Always Running Out of Time
by Song Of A Free Heart
Summary: Project GUARDIAN AU oneshot. After the purge, Merida is on the run from whoever is tracking her down from the Project GUARDIAN Kill On Sight list. Unlike Jack Frost, she remembers everything. And that almost makes it worse.


**When life gives you a bad bus ride… turn it into a **_**Project GUARDIAN**_** oneshot. I pictured shooting out the speaker above me seat, realized the only reason I had that thought was because of PG… and this was born.**

**I don't own Merida, **_**BRAVE**_**, or any associated elements. Neither do I own **_**Rise of the Guardians**_** (I feel the need to mention it). **_**Project GUARDIAN: The Rise & Fall**_**, and it's universe, belongs to Her Head In The Clouds. I'm just playing in her sandbox for a while.**

_Always Running Out Of Time_

There was a gun clipped to the small of her back, under her jacket where no one would see it. And at the moment Merida wanted to use it to blow out the bus speakers; at least the one right above her seat. The bus driver was playing something she refused to acknowledge as music, at a level that would have been loud even if her senses _weren't _enhanced by her center gene.

It was driving her straight into the arms of a migraine.

Shooting the speaker would take five seconds. In her head she pictured the exact motions she would go through. Whip the gun out, take aim, fire. But satisfying as the daydream was, she knew she wouldn't do it. That she couldn't. Even if she would be doing a service to everyone else on the bus, it would draw attention to her.

There was the emergency exit door at the back of the bus, with no one between her and it. But her appearance was too distinct, and everyone would be able to give the police an accurate description. In a small town where the police had nothing better to do, the destruction of public property would bring them all down on her. She couldn't afford that.

She had tried to change her appearance – trying to dye her hair and straighten out the lion's mane of curls. But dye lasted a few days (a week if she was lucky), and even chemical straightening lasted only half a day. The curse of her center gene. She could hide her bright aquamarine eyes behind colored contacts, but that was the last thing people noticed.

So she sat still, curled against the window of a bus that smelled like cigarette smoke and dead skin, watching streets she'd memorized over the past few months. A 10 pm they were illuminated only in patches by yellow streetlights scattered at intervals along roughly paved streets. The short bus rattled over potholes, passengers droning on in their trivial conversations that drove her absolutely mad.

Once, she'd been a GUARDIAN – the elite of the elite. She'd been Artemis. She'd had an arsenal at her disposal. Including a garage of the best cars and motorcycles – the best engines, the sleekest frames, because the male dominated company was obsessed with hot cars, and she hadn't minded one bit.

She had taken it all for granted. Her position, her friends, and the black Ducati motorcycle she'd dubbed "Angus" for no reason other than that she could.

Merida leaned her head against the window. The streets lights in the residential areas were few and far between, a few of the light bulbs dead all together. Despite the dark, she could make out a few tell-tale landmarks – little things about each passing house that helped her keep track of where they were.

From driving her own Ducati, to riding a public bus with people who had no idea about the world they lived in.

To them, Mexican drug cartels were a news story they paid no attention to – or an action movie they watched without a second thought. Intercity gang wars were a sign of why cities were bad, and it was a tragedy, but what could they do about it?

Pitch Black was a name in headlines, but he might as well have been a nightmare for all it affected them.

The GUARDIANS… the GUARDIANS weren't even a rumor or a legend.

She had taken it all for granted.

Now, she would give anything to get back to those days.

She could live without being a GUARDIAN at this point. If only she didn't have to live on the run, avoiding attention, working jobs she would have scoffed at before.

If she could just have had the motorcycle. If maybe just one of her friends had survived.

If Hiccup hadn't turned back that night, giving her a weak grin, squeezing her hand as he promised to buy her time.

The bus drove over a pot hole, rattling the whole frame of the vehicle. Her head jostled against the window, the glass smacking against her forehead. Merida grimaced at the impact, lifting her head to avoid a repeat.

She missed her family.

She'd taken them for granted, too. Rolling her eyes when one of her parents called her, or when he mother tried to teach her something.

The irony was bitter, that she only understood how important those things were when she could no longer reach out for them. She couldn't put them at risk. So she stayed hidden, wishing she'd known then what she'd been forced to learn.

As soon as her stop came into view she stood up from her seat, grabbing her bag of Thai food take out, leg muscles tensed to help her keep balance on the shifting floor as the bus came to a stop.

She could get to her apartment, where at least it was quiet. Where she wouldn't have to deal with the mindless conversations of the ignorant.

When the bus pulled to a stop, she muttered a sarcastic thanks to the driver as she jumped down to the street. Relief washed over her as she left the surround sound deluge of something that was _not_ music.

The bus started moving away as soon as she was off, and she was left with the feint call of the last few birds that still made their way back to their nests, and the occasional car that passed her in a flash of headlights. She took a deep breath of air thick with the recent rain, and the faint sweetness of mold from the fallen leaves gathered in the gutter that had already begun to compost.

Her apartment was a couple stops down, but she got off early as a safety measure, cutting down a few side streets to throw off anyone who might follow her.

One disadvantage to her current apartment was that it was just a few blocks from the police department, so her trek from the bus stop was double what she would consider safe. You never could know when some small town cop would get delusions of grandeur and check the wanted list in the hope of making a name for themselves. Bust not to make it any easier for them. Not when she'd figured out enough to know she was on some kind of KOS list. She'd tried to find out how in the world that had happened, but she'd given up. She wasn't a computer hacker.

A few block down she cut into an overgrown alley, her boots crunching over the gravel packed down by years of rain, snow and car tires. Bushes and trees grew over run down fences, their arms reaching deep into the alley, a few with thorns or small twigs that tried to scratch her. But she'd walked this alley enough that she knew where it was safe to step.

There was only one light source – the lamp over the back porch of a house about halfway down. Thankfully the Rottweiler was inside tonight.

Back on the main street she passed a group of teenage boys gathered around a telephone pole on the corner, laughing at crude jokes and swearing too much. She glanced from the corner of her eye, but they paid no attention to her. She'd seen them before, and knew they weren't a threat. Even if they tried something she had her gun at the small of her back, and a couple knives tucked in a hidden pocket of her jacket.

The temperature had dropped now the sun was down. The nights were growing colder as the last vestiges of summer slipped away. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees, leaving the branches bare. It almost added insult to injury. She's been part of the Autumn Division – and the symbolism of autumn being over was so poetic it made her sick.

Tonight the North Wind had decided to bring a winter preview. It swirled a few leaves not weighed down rain and decay. They skittered and danced across the cracked asphalt.

She could feel the wind that tugged at the corner of her unzipped jacket and pushed her curls off her face. But she didn't feel it. Her center gene saw to that. So she didn't bother with the zipper, just kept walking. When she got back to her apartment she would be able to sit down and eat. She could pretend she was a normal twenty-something in an apartment that was half empty not because she had to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, but because she just couldn't afford more. (Well, both those things were true, but that was beside the point.)

But when she reached the boundary of her apartment complex, the fine hairs at the back of her neck rose, instinct whispering that something wasn't quite right.

She glanced around the complex, searching for any signs of trouble. There were two onestory building, each with four studio apartments. The lights were off in three – the vacant one, the one where the man went to bed early, and another where the young woman who lived there was almost always gone. She had learned her neighbor's habits within a week of being here, making sure none of them was a threat. Next to the complex was a city park that was mostly a grass lawn, with a play structure in one corner. There was no one there – not even the teenagers that occasionally came late at night.

An alley cat sat on the railing out the apartment of the old woman who kept bowls of cat food and water outside her door for just this purpose. His white fur was illuminated by the light by the door, his black tail twitching as he watched Merida walk down the sidewalk to her own door.

The parking lot had only the five cars that should be there, and a bike locked to one of the beams of that held up the overhang.

Nothing seemed out of place.

That made the discomfort in her stomach all the more unsettling. Because if something was wrong, the lack of evidence meant it was probably someone who knew what they were going.

Merida pulled her keys from her jacket pocket, shifting the apartment key between her fore and middle fingers so it could be used as a weapon if need be. She'd rather not call one her gene. Once she used it she would have no chance of hiding.

She reached her own apartment, which faced the road on one side, with a window that looked out on the street so she could keep an eye on the comings and goings. The set up, and easy means of escape, made the risk of being so close to the police station worth it.

When she checked, there were no signs of forced entry… but when she tried the door knob it opened without any resistance. Her stomach clenched again. She remembered locking the door that morning when she'd left for workhe put the key away, leaving one had free to reach for her gun or her knives, Already her body temperature rose, though she hadn't called on her gene.

She stepped inside and glanced around the one room apartment. It was more of a studio, the bathroom the only thing with an actual door. Her single bed was pushed into one corner, and a small table on one side of the room, though most of the floor was left open so she could train. Her few things were tucked in the closet, while the only other "furniture" she had was a punching bag she'd splurged on in a desperate need for something to hit. All that was left was the kitchenette in one corner.

There weren't many places to hide, so she found the intruder on her first glance.

In the dark room he was only a silhouette, back lit by the street lamp outside. He was already reaching for the fun holstered on his belt. A utility belt. He knew what he was doing.

Before he could raise it to aim, Merida lunged forward. She vaguely registered dropping the plastic bag that held her Thai food. Her right foot lashed up in a round house kick, smacking the silhouette's wrist with enough force to knock the gun from his hand. It clattered across the hard wood floor.

Before he could reach for another weapon Merida slammed her fist into his solar plexus. He stumbled back, but recovered sooner than she'd expected.

Reaching for her gun, she ducked under a right hook.

But her own trick was turned back. As soon as she raised the gun to shoot her wrist was grabbed in a thick, gloved hand. He twisted the gun from her grip. But she took advantage of his focused attention to snap another kick at his chest.

When he stumbled back, this time she vaulted forward, hands bracing on the floor so she could bring both feet around into his side.

Her opponent grunted. But the lack of give told her he was wearing some kind of armor under his bulky black jacket. Kevlar?

She threw a right hook at the side of his head.

Be brought an arm up to block the blow. Just before she could bring her left fist around as well, she felt something bite into her right wrist.

She stumbled back as something warm dripped down the side of her hand.

A little light coming through the window glinted off the blade that jutted from his gauntlet. She still didn't know who she was dealing with. But with that kind of equipment, it wasn't someone to trifle with.

A Nightmare? He didn't have a gasmask – a mask, yes, but it didn't have the glowing yellow eyelenses. Was Pitch Black hunting down surviving GUARDIANS? Or was he just a mercenary that had found her name on a KOS list? She'd dealt with a couple of those.

Either way, there went her lingering hope that she could kick him out and eat her dinner.

Fine. In that case, she might as well use everything left in her arsenal.

Her center gene surged, all her pent up energy racing through her veins as the fire ignited in her palm, flickering orange light off the shadowed walls of her apartment. She swept her hand around, the arc of fire manifesting in its path before she pushed it outwards with her mind.

Her attacker stumbled back from the heat.

It had been months since she'd been in a fight, and it felt good. Training didn't offer the rush that came from facing an opponent.

She lunched through the flames that had no effect on her and jammed her elbow into the man's face, following it up with a punch to his stomach.

Her flames kept the man from taking the offense since he couldn't get close to her, while she was free to attack.

Another elbow to his chest sent him stumbling backwards again – one more follow up and he lost his balance completely. Merida watched on fall, his head hitting the back of his head on the edge of her round table. The _crack_ resounded through the studio. He slumped to the floor, and Merida stood there, panting.

She wiped away blood that dripped from her split lip – one of the few blows he'd landed.

And in her chest, she felt something suspiciously like sadness.

This wasn't some simple burglary. Someone had found her. It didn't matter who it was. It just mattered that they had.

She took a deep breath as she looked around the studio she had come to think of as home without even realizing tt. It at the few possessions she had worked for, to make it a little more her. It had been stupid, because she'd known she would only be here until something like this happened. But she'd done it anyway.

None of it could come with her.

Gathering her thoughts, she started to go over the all too familiar checklist in her head.

First things first. She grabbed a roll of bandages and wrapped is around her still bleeding wrist. There was blood all over now – she would have to deal with that.

Going to her closet she pulled down the black backpack she kept on the upper shelf. Opening the large pocket, she pulled clothes off the hangers and shoved them in, not bothering to fold them. She didn't have time. Her weapons belt he put in between the layers of fabric. A couple guns – but only two, to avoid detection. She threw some food in as well. Her wallet, and the envelope that held her savings she kept in the front pocket of her pants. It would be far too easy to be separated from her backpack. Anything vital had to stay on her person.

From the back of her closet she grabbed what looked like a simple suitcase. The only thing she still had that could get past airport security without raising a single alarm. She'd once had a backpack with special lining that had the same affect… but she'd been forced to leave it behind in a flash flood when she'd hitchhiked through Texas, dropping it into the rapids of a swollen river.

She undid the lock with the key she kept on a necklace. The real security was the fingerprint sensor on the latches that flashed green as it recognized her. Her bow was still folded up and tucked into the bottom compartment, her quiver of arrows strapped to the lid. The specialized arrows she'd once fired without much thought she now hoarded like a dragon with treasure. Now, when she dared to take the bow out, she used basic arrows she bought from sports stores – usually a hundred for twenty bucks.

Not easy to access. But if she ran into anyone else, the gun at the small of her back would be quicker anyway. Sometimes she had to admit, if only to herself, that the bow was more sentimental than anything else. In the vain hope that someday – _someday_ – she could get back to who she'd once been.

Shutting the suitcase again, she grabbed the handle. Despite its solid structure, and its contents, it was lightweight. Thank Heaven for small blessings.

Merida cast her gaze around the studio one last time, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything important. If it wasn't important, it had to stay. Another pang shot through her heart.

But with a shaky breath, she called on her center gene. Channeling the flames that sparked in the air around her fingers, she sent them to the carpet, wall, and the chair where her blood had landed. She didn't have time to clean it up.

Once the flames caught, she turned and left – grabbing her dinner with her free hand before slamming the door shut. Her attacker was still unconscious, or dead, on the floor.

As she passed the fire alarm on the outside wall she didn't even pause. Her now gloved fingers grabbed the latch and pulled until the plastic bar snapped. The alarm started like a knife piercing the air. It almost made the noise level from the bus pleasant in comparison.

Gritting her teeth against the sound that was a needle through her skull, she started running. Her hair was tucked in the hood of her leather jacket, incase anyone caught sight of her. She'd be gone by the time the police started looking for her. If they would bother.

Behind her, she could feel the fire spreading through her apartment, licking up walls and around doorways as he ran across the grassy lawn of the park.

The ground, moist from rain water, was springy under her feet, giving, and demanding more from her muscles.

On the edge of town was a train station. In a little over an hour – a few minutes before midnight – a train would pull in, heading west. She could be in Seattle by noon tomorrow – if she didn't get off at one of the stops in between.

But she knew Seattle – she'd spent time at one of the GUARDIAN satellite bases in one of the nearby cities. She'd been hiding in small towns long enough it was probably time to vanish in a big city.

**A/N: In my Katherine and Nightlight oneshot, Nightlights apartment and the surrounding area were based in a city in Washington where I used to live. It's where Microsoft is located, so it seemed like the perfect place in my mind to hide a GUARDIAN base. For this, I was picturing Merida in the tower where I love now (right down to the apartments where I almost lived), so I figured: why not tie them together?**

**The detail about Merida leaving her backpack in a flashflood in TX is from something that happened to my mom a few years ago. She left a bunch of stuff hanging from a bridge with a bungee cord. **

**And one of my coworkers always wears a gun on her belt when she's off the clock. It's a comical image when she walks around in flow-y tops and kitten heels….**


End file.
